


the killing of the dad-chaperone samothes by the traitor eleventh grader maelgwyn

by kismetNemesis



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Prom, Silly, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kismetNemesis/pseuds/kismetNemesis
Summary: There's a phrase you might hear, round academia way: "prom is too expensive for them to not let people drink and make out just a little bit, am I right?"





	the killing of the dad-chaperone samothes by the traitor eleventh grader maelgwyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgemice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgemice/gifts).



> HAPPY SECRET SAMOL EMILY... THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN!!!

_Now, in the stories told about Marielda High, it’s often suggested that The Six and The Golden Lancers are natural opposites. Misfits that move with unstoppable force moving headlong into stuck-up popular kids embodied as immovable objects. And I see where that comes from. People like a good story, and good stories need scrappy underdogs and devious cliques. But live long as me, and you'll learn there ain't none. No heroes, no villains. It's just teens. The Six and the Golden Lancers, they were more alike than different. A group of independents temporarily aligned, not unstoppable, not immovable, just lucky, and sixteen years old._

Maelgwyn pitched the idea at second lunch, after school but before quiz bowl. It was 3pm, and the Denny’s was deserted but for the Six.

“There’s something I have to do,” he said, voice dark with meaning. He ate one of Castille’s onion rings. 

“Is it Castille?” Aubrey smirked. Castille smacked her, even though she and Maelgwyn were both blushing. 

“This is about junior prom,” Maelgwyn continued. A hush fell over the table. “My dad...”

“Samothes is chaperoning, right?” said Edmund. Ethan wasn’t here today, trying to keep up the ruse that there was only one Hitchcock. Maelgwyn personally felt like that joke had stopped being funny in ninth grade.

“No, my other dad. He gave me this idea... we’re sixteen. We should get to go to one dance without a chaperone.” Maelgwyn put on his best impression of Samothes, who was a tech CEO and had to give speeches all the time. “We all saved up $80 for tickets. We all passed most of our classes. We never do anything fun.”

“Quiz bowl is fun,” protested Aubrey, but Maelgwyn could tell she was hooked. 

“Quiz bowl is fun,” Maelgwyn conceded. “But I want to drink somewhere that’s not in Zak’s basement.”

Silence fell over the table again, each of them lost in their own memories of Zak’s basement, and probably specifically the time Peg puked in the sink. Maelgwyn still couldn’t stomach peach schnapps. 

“How do we do it?” asked Aubrey. 

“I don’t know about this, guys.” Sige spoke up for the first time, and everyone turned to look at him. 

“What?” Maelgwyn tried to pour as much of Samot’s ice into his voice as possible. 

Sige looked down at his burgers. “We’re gonna get in trouble.” 

“That’s never been a problem before, dude,” he said slowly. Internally, panic thudded against his ribs: what had he done to make Sige doubt him? Was he losing grip on the group? Why had he just called him “dude”? Instinctively, he straightened his shoulders. _Confidence, Maelgwyn._

“I was thinking of applying to student council next year,” Sige admitted. Everyone gasped as if Sige had just admitted to murdering someone, which was inappropriate, because this was way worse than that. 

“You wanna be a Lancer?!” spat Aubrey. “Sige, they’re fucking cops.”

“You knocked that guy out!” Edmund said through a mouthful of fries.

“Rebecca Orchid is hot though,” added Castille. She mouthed _What?_ at Maelgwyn’s look. God, he loved her so much. 

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Sige sighed. “Look, I have to have something that looks good on my college applications.”

“Stop it, Sige. You’re going to get into Continental.” Castille rubbed his arm. “It’s not too late.”

Personally, Maelgwyn didn’t see what was so great about Continental. Private schools sucked, and he’d been happy to transfer to Marielda High. But it had always been Sige’s dream to get out of Marielda someday.

“I have to have a contingency plan.”

“You won’t even get in trouble. Only I will.” Maelgwyn ripped his straw wrapper in half decisively. “This is something I have to do. It’s who I am.”

“Are you ready to pay yet?” 

“For the last time, no,” Aubrey snapped at the waitress. “Is there a law about how many hours you can sit inside a Denny’s? I don’t think so!”

-

The plan was simple. When Samot had explained it to Maelgwyn, he’d been shocked by its minimalistic beauty. That was just like his dad, to come up with something clever and quick and brutally devastating.

All Maelgwyn would need to do was smuggle in a flask. 

“With alcohol in it?” he’d asked. “Dad, I know you think teenagers should learn how to drink early, but-”

“No, no.” Samot walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cranberry juice. “This is our secret weapon.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I’ve paid off all the other teachers and chaperones,” Samot explained. “The only one who is immune to that particular method of persuasion is my dear husband. There’s just one thing that’ll force him to leave the party: a wardrobe malfunction.” 

“Ohhhhh.”

“You’re a very bright child, Maelgwyn. You’ll bring the cranberry juice, and you’ll just... accidentally tip it onto his suit. The one I bought for his birthday last year.”

“The white one,” said Maelgwyn reverentially. “That’s brilliant.”

Samot grinned and pressed a small bluetooth headset into Maelgwyn’s hand. “I’ll be in your ear the whole time.” 

“I’m not sure that’s really necessary, seeing how I just have to pour some juice on a shirt-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you.”

“I think it might look more suspicious, actually?”

“Maelgwyn, I already bought the bluetooth.”

-

Castille and Maelgwyn had been a _thing_ all year, ever since the summer. She got him, really got him, in a way no one else did. She’d also let him into the Six, which he’d sorely needed as the weird rich transfer kid. _You made us into an actual group of six,_ she liked to say. 

They sat on a grassy hill a week before prom, watching the sun go down.

“We are going to the dance together, right?” Castille asked.

“Of course. You’re my girlfriend.” Maelgwyn turned his face away from her for a moment, still overwhelmed at the word. 

“I know. I just wanted you to say it.”

Maelgwyn dropped a handful of grass onto her. 

“Maelgwyn,” she said carefully. “Are you sure this is going to work? The plan, that is?”

“No. But we have to try.”

They both flopped back and lay in silence for a moment, comfortable with each other even in the face of their daunting plan. 

“I might have an idea,” she said, rolling onto her side. 

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you should use wine.” Maelgwyn sat up entirely, gazing down at her. She was beautiful, even squinting in the last light of the sun.

“Where would we even get wine? Oh... you mean use the bottle we have?” 

One of Castille and Maelgwyn’s first dates had been to steal a bottle of wine from Samot’s cellar. It sat untouched, gathering dust for a rainy day. Maelgwyn had always thought they might drink it if they ever had sex, or on their last night before college. 

“Wine is much harder to clean than juice,” said Castille. “And if you have any left over, we can drink it. Just the two of us.”

The offer felt weighty. Maelgwyn thought again about them sharing the bottle, alone in some quiet place. 

“We’re going to be outrunning the Lancers all evening if they know we brought in the booze,” he said, but it sounded weak even to him. After all, the rest of their booze would be underneath the buffet table, taped there hours earlier by the Hitchcocks. 

“They won’t know. Trust me, this is the right move.”

He sighed, then leaned over to kiss her, their discussion lost in the spring grass.

-

“You know, I really thought using Samothes’s stylist was a bad move,” said Aubrey, smoothing her dress down over her knees. “But hey, this is alright.” 

“Primo’s like the dad I never had,” said Maelgwyn. Castille snorted. “You two really didn’t want different suits?” he asked Ethan and Edmund. Aubrey was crammed between them in the backseat, looking like the meat in a prom sandwich.

“We may need to use the ruse for tonight’s caper,” said Edmund. Maelgwyn caught Ethan’s brow furrowing slightly. Had Edmund not told his brother about the plan?

His worries were driven out of his head when Castille put a hand on his thigh. Tonight was going to be special.

When they arrived, they met up with Sige, who as usual had opted to take his own car, even though it was constantly breaking down. It was the work he really loved, he’d explained. He looked uncomfortable, but that might’ve just been his suit.

The Golden Lancers were waiting at the door.

“Enjoying door duty?” asked Castille innocently. “We’re gonna go have fun dancing.”

“We have to search you,” snapped Rebecca. “Hands up.” Maelgwyn tried not to freak out. This hadn’t been in the plan; had Samothes increased security?

“It’s fine,” came Samot’s voice in his ear. “Hold on, I have it under control.” 

Maelgwyn crossed his fingers, and moments later, Samothes appeared.

“Maelgwyn! You look so handsome, son.” Everyone snickered, including the rest of the Six. Traitors. “Come inside, we need to take pictures.” Samothes hustled him past the Lancers, the flask safe in his pocket. 

“Taken care of,” said Samot, smug. 

Maelgwyn looked up into Samothes’ face and felt dread creep into his stomach.

-

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“You have to. It’s too late now. Just go in there.” Aubrey pushed on his back. Samothes was alone in the teacher’s lounge, according to Samot. Maelgwyn stood with his hand on the doorknob, Castille, Edmund, and Aubrey behind him. 

“I...”

“Give me a minute with him, guys?” asked Castille. Maelgwyn heard their footsteps retreating as Castille hugged him from behind. “You really don’t have to do this,” she said once they’d retreated. 

“No, I... I do. In a weird way, I think it’s what Dad-Samothes-wants from me. Making my own decisions, you know? Confidence.” 

“Okay, then. You got this.” She kissed him on the ear. “Go make me proud.”

Maelgwyn pushed open the door, and let it shut behind him. 

Samothes was facing away from him, talking on the phone. His suit shone bright under the fluorescents. Maelgwyn took one step, then two, then nearly tripped. A large hand landed on his shoulder.

“Sige...? What are you doing?” he hissed.

“You can’t go through with this, Maelgwyn.”

“Oh my god, Sige. You’re one of them, aren’t you? The Lancers?”

“They knew you were up to something, and they said I’d get in if I stopped you.” He shrugged helplessly. 

“I can’t believe this.” Maelgwyn hung his head.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Maelgwyn took off, taking advantage of Sige’s surprise. He unstoppered the flask and flung it wildly at Samothes. Sige caught up to him, but the damage was done: Samothes’ suit dripped scarlet.

Maelgwyn fell to his knees, and the rest of the Six and the Lancers burst in. 

“Oh, dear,” said Samothes mildly. “Well, I have to leave, don’t I?”

If Maelgwyn wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw a ghost of a smile on Samothes’ face.

“You’re not... mad?”

“Cranberry juice comes right out,” he said, stepping past the small crowd of teens hanging on his every word. 

“How did you know...?” Aubrey started.

“He sold us out!” exclaimed Edmund, pointing at Sige.

“I didn’t! Not to Samothes!”

Samothes laughed, startling everyone. “Your father and I have been having some chats about parenting lately,” he explained to Maelgwyn. “I didn’t want it to be this... dramatic, but you know how he is.”

All the Lancers gaped at him as he left, thwarted from their usual brand of snitchy justice.

“Wait, Dad,” called Maelgwyn. “It’s not cranberry juice.”

Samothes stopped, and turned around very slowly. “Then... what is it?”

“It’s... it’s wine.”

Samothes went very still. One of the Lancers oohed. 

“Maelgwyn... you’re coming with me. And you’re grounded.”

The door swung open again, and everyone turned to look. 

“What are we all doing in here?” asked Ethan.

-

Maelgwyn was grounded for the whole summer. Samothes took his phone, too, and he was reduced to emailing his friends from the work computer at the summer job he’d been forced to take at Samothes’ company. It was workable, once he reassured the Six that he wasn’t his dad-just emailing from his address. 

Maybe it was good he was missing some of the drama. Sige started hanging out with the Lancers, and there was a major falling-out between the Hitchcocks based on Edmund never telling Ethan about the plan. One of them dyed his hair, and that was that for their twin telepathy.

Aubrey and Castille saw him the most-Castille because even Samothes didn’t want to bar him entirely from his girlfriend, and Aubrey because she somehow became friends with Samot. (“What? He helps me buy chemicals off the dark web. He thinks I’m a very promising student.”)

Sometimes Maelgwyn wondered what would have happened if he had just used the cranberry juice. He told Castille not to beat herself up over it, but he could sense a permanent regret within her, a prom night lost and a summer subdued. 

-

A year later, Maelgwyn sat in the same Denny’s, showing Castille something on his phone.

“You’re sure this will work?” she asked. “If we fuck this up... we can’t spend our last summer in town apart again.”

“I’m sure.” Maelgwyn grinned. “This year, prom’s being chaperoned digitally, with cameras and stuff. And it just so happens that they’ve hired my dad’s company.”

“But how will you do anything about that? You’re not a hacker.”

“Who needs hacking, when you know the right guy? I got the email address for the lead on the project. And... I still have an address that looks like it could be my dad’s.”

“Holy shit,” breathed Castille.

“Yeah. Have some faith in me, Castille.”

Maelgwyn squeezed her hand and began drafting an email. Now, he had to make it look professional...

_  
To: anurmacher@ingenuity.com  
From: sam@ingenuity.com _

_Hi Hadrian,_


End file.
